Suspend the suspense
by Procrastinator-starting2moro
Summary: Lily and James lock themselves in the dorms for a night of naughtiness, forcing Sirius and Remus to sleep in the Shrieking Shack. SiriusRemus one shot, silly bantering, and eating of the face in a kissing sense .


Disclaimer: I own nothing

Suspend the suspense

A small scar lies on the faintly sweaty forehead of Remus Lupin, barely the size of a fingernail. It's a fresh new mark from just last night, a night of the full moon. No one in the castle notices the scar – at least, no one has the courage to point out there's a gash on his face. Unsurprisingly, Remus is no stranger to scars. He's lucky this one on his temple is so little, and the larger, deeper, more painful scars on his skin are hiding under his tattered robes.

The scar is barely noticeable to the naked eye, yet stands out to Sirius. In fact, he's been staring at it all day. Once or twice Remus had caught him looking at the top of his head, and Sirius excused himself by saying a fly was in Remus' hair, then promptly slapped his head to make the lie more believable.

Naturally, Remus did not appreciate being clouted on the head at least twelve consecutive times, worsening his drained disposition from such a tough night last night. Sirius noticed there had been something different about their usual full moon adventures. Things seemed rougher, more out of one's control, and as a result, Remus had yet again earned more scrapes to his skin, something Sirius found particularly wrong because they were the sort that belonged on an aged man, not one of his young best friends.

At this moment in time, Remus and Sirius are sitting in the emtpy common room, the clock approaching midnight. Remus, as usual, is doing something productive (albeit, rather late) and finishing his Transfiguration essay due tomorrow. Sirius, as usual, is keeping him company. James and Peter had offered to stay up to accompany him, but Remus insisted they go sleep. However, when _Sirius_ suggested he'd stay behind, Remus had given in to him (far too easily, he realized). He had to admit, sometimes he was wrapped around Padfoot's little finger (or paw - whichever form Sirius was strutting about in at the time).

The room is filled with peaceful silence, apart from the sound of Remus scribbling with his quill. Normally Sirius didn't like silence; silence made you think about the world, about everything, like his scum parents, or he and his friend's insecure futures in such current dark times. As a result of Sirius' dislike for thinking about the depressing, he would usually disrupt the absence of sound with insane anecdotes. However, in Remus' company, he appreciated the lack of noise and found it calming.

But yet again, Sirius is staring at Remus' scar from his armchair. Frankly, Remus is getting annoyed. He'd expected Sirius to do something –_anything_—to entertain himself when he offered to stay up with him. He did not appreciate being gawked at like a three headed Hippogriff.

The longer Sirius stares, the faster and more hurried Remus' writing becomes, until Remus gets so annoyed his quill snaps, ripping a hole through his parchment.

"That was a little dim-witted, Moony," comments Sirius.

"_You're_ a little dim-witted," Remus retorts moodily under his breath, jamming the two pieces of his broken quill together. His usually logical self would've simply gotten a new quill or used an easy fixing spell, but Sirius is making him nervous.

"You forget my exceptional hearing," Sirius reminds Remus, sending him a smirk. "I am a dog, after all."

"That, you are," Remus agrees. Once his quill is mended, he begins to write again, but finds Sirius' intense gaze too much. "Will you stop looking at me like an animal in the zoo?" he finally says something about Sirius' inappropriate behaviour. Sirius looks a little startled at being caught in the act. He'd been sitting rather forward in his armchair to examine Remus, and pulls back to give him space, looking impressively innocent.

"Can't help it," Sirius says. "You're an interesting species. Out of curiosity, what zoo animal do you think you were in a past life?"

"I don't believe in 'past lives'—" Remus begins.

"—I think I was a sloth - at least, I'd like to be one. They do bugger all, don't they?"

"And _you_ do bugger all."

"Exactly!" Sirius rearranges his legs comfortably so they are stacked upon Remus' knees in the chair opposite, more specifically on top of Remus' essay.

Remus has a fit - in a dignified manner, of course.

"Feet!" he cries out. Sirius doesn't get the message, only making his feet more comfortable on top of Remus' knees. "If you don't remove your feet in the next five seconds I will nibble them off."

"Terrible choice of verb there, mate," Sirius tells him. "The word 'nibble' only diminishes the threat."

Remus is so upset at the fact that he can see _muddy footprint stains_ on his _essay_. Sod incorrect verbs! This calls for Remus to act cunning, yet dignified. It's the only way to get Sirius' feet off his knees, and off his poor essay.

"Padfoot, _please_."

Yes, essays _pained_ with muddy footprint stains reduce him to begging. Luckily his pathetic method works.

"You're no fun," Sirius pouts, putting his feet back on the floor.

Remus huffs, attempting to wipe away the grubby footmarks on his sheet of parchment. "Where in Merlin's arse do you go in those shoes? Jumping in dirty puddles?"

"Yes," Sirius says, shooting him a strange look. "You were there today, remember, Moony? You were supervising which puddles were safe and which ones were puddles of doom—"

"There are no puddles of doom!" Remus tells him for the tenth time that day. "No puddle is a secret vortex to another dimension, nor do any puddles desire to swallow your feet. Don't say it's true because there is _no evidence_." Remus Lupin is all about evidence.

"Because the puddles have eaten them!" Sirius theorizes. "The puddles consume the evidence, that's all I'm saying—"

"Oh good grief…"

When Remus mutters an 'oh good grief', he has clearly hit rock bottom. Sirius laughs at Remus' somewhat pained expression. Sirius loves –and was born—to annoy wizarding kind.

Once again, Remus attempts to write his essay, while Sirius watches him closely. It's amazing, Sirius notices, how easily Remus can get back into routine after every transformation. It had only been full moon last night, and most of today Remus should have spent resting, yet here Remus is now, writing essays. Sirius really does admire him, sometimes a little too much.

"Will you stop staring at it?"

Sirius' thoughts are broken. He sinks in his seat. "I'm not looking at it."

"Yes, you are."

"Proof?" demands Sirius.

"Your gaze is directly on my forehead and not on my eyes when you speak to me."

Guiltily, Sirius lowers his eyes, until they meet Remus' gaze, and Sirius flashes him a rogue grin. Remus thinks ridiculously that he prefers it when Sirius is looking at his forehead. He now remembers how uncomfortable he feels under Sirius' stare; his eyes are just so grey and fathomless.

"Sorry," Sirius apologizes. "It's just so-" he gestures to Remus' forehead "-noticeable." He catches Remus' look of horror and reassures him, "_Small_, mind you, but noticeable."

"If it's bothering you so much why don't you just leave the room?" Remus snaps touchily. If Sirius has noticed Remus is annoyed, he's chosen to ignore his foul mood.

"Oh no, it's not bothering me. It's rather fetching, actually…" Sirius looks rather alarmed at his own statement. Quickly, he covers his tracks, "To the girls, you know, fetching to them... But, you know, I'd rather have a scarless-unfetching-you rather than a fetching-scar-covered-you who's in pain…"

"That's," Remus pauses, and eventually settles with the word: "Interesting…"

"Does it hurt?"

All of a sudden, Sirius has leapt from his chair and is now sitting far too close to Remus on the couch he's parked at. With startled eyes, Remus peeks upwards at the pair of hands that have unexpectedly appeared, touching the scar on his forehead. "Wh-what are you doing?" Remus asks shakily.

"People have told me I have therapeutic hands," Sirius grins. Sirius grinning is something Remus does not need right now; grinning equal's trouble, the good kind.

"I highly doubt they can magic scars away—Sirius, what in the name of Merlin's arse are you doing now?" he questions. Sirius ignores him, continuing to stroke Remus' head as though it's a small, furry kitten.

"Does it still hurt?"

Sirius is so close to Remus' face he can see his nasal hair. He wouldn't trust an individual without nasal hair. "I can see your nasal hair," Remus tells Sirius, as though this will snap Sirius to his senses. "Sirius, the scar is on my forehead, yet now you're stroking my CHEEK. This is ODD."

"Do you not like my therapeutic hands?"

"It's not a question of like, I'm just afraid of where your hands have been and I'll wake up with blemishes all over me." Remus groans. "Padfoot, what will someone think if they just walk in on us like this?"

"Boy-on-boy action. How kinky."

At such a suggestion, Remus bolts up from his chair, leaving Sirius to steal his spot, shaking his head at Remus in amusement. "Honestly Moony, you're so touchy about people, well, touching you! You're going to have to face up to the fact that one day you're going to be so touchy you'll be having SEX—"

"Oh _Merlin_, we are not having this _conversation!_" Remus screams in horror, covering his ears and singing the Greek Alphabet song to block out Sirius' voice. "AAAALPHA, BET-TA, GAAAA-MA…."

"SEX," Sirius continues, at a loud frequency. "With a person—"

"Well, what else would sex be carried out with, a potted plant?" Remus suggests wildly. He gathers up his essay, wiping the sweat from his forehead with it, and then screams because he used his homework as a towel. "I think... I think we should go to bed now."

"Is that an invitation? Oh come on, I was joking," Sirius laughs, as Remus promptly climbs the staircase to the dorms. Rolling his eyes, Sirius follows him, two steps at a time.

When they reach the Seventh Years boys' dormitory, Remus stops without warning, and Sirius collides with his back. Mutually, they gaze down at their friend, Peter, who is sitting on the floor.

"What's going on?" Remus asks Peter. "Why aren't you inside?"

Peter rubs sleepily at his eyes. "Prongs is in there with Evans," he yawns.

Sirius looks unconvinced, making for the door handle, but the locked door doesn't budge. "Oh God, they better not be doing the unforgivable on my bed," he mutters.

"Avada Kedavra?" Peter says.

"No, the other unforgivable."

"The Imperius curse?"

"No, the other, _other_ one."

"The Cruci—"

"Sex, Wormtail."

Remus scoffs. "They're not having sex. They're probably just-" He pauses, and ends lamely with, "Snuggling?"

"Prongs snuggles teddy bears, Moony, he does not snuggle women." All of a sudden, Sirius shrieks, "I think I just heard a sex noise!" He points at the door, and then realizes, "No, wait, sorry, that was my stomach. False alarm."

Another noise.

"Now _that_ was a sex noise—Wormtail, take your ear away from the door at once!"

Peter puts up his hands in defence. "I'm just making sure she isn't killing him! Don't those noises sound like cries of help to you?"

"No, they're normal noises, Wormtail. It's fine. He's not being tortured—unless Evans' is into that kind of thing—"

"Will you just bang on the door or something?" Remus cuts off Sirius, more than uncomfortable talking about their friend's sex life.

"Prongs!" Sirius slams his fists on the surface of the door, accompanied by a hard kick. "Open up, Prongsie!"

After some rustling and hissed whispers, the door finally opens a margin, enough for James' head to peek through the slot. There's a distinct lack of clothes about him, a clear sign that whatever he and Lily are doing is more than an innocent, late Heads meeting.

"Yes?" James says, running his hand through his hair.

"Oi, bum brain," Sirius addresses him rudely. "What do you think you're doing, locking us out of our own dormitory!"

"We needed the privacy." James seems rather preoccupied, glancing behind him at something the boys cannot see, though undoubtedly looks appealing.

"Well, that's nice and everything, but we need sleep," Remus says, trying to remain calm and civilized.

"But we need privacy," James says again.

By now, Remus has forgotten all chivalry. "You need _privacy_, we need _sleep_. I think out of the two musts here, ours seems pretty more imperative, don't you think?"

"The second we get out of this castle, you and Evans can breed and fornicate as many times as you want," Sirius inputs, rather vulgarly.

"Come on, guys," James whines. "Can you please just sleep in the Shack tonight?"

"Most certainly—"

"—you will? Thanks, guys! See you in the morning!" James slams the door shut and fastens it quickly after.

"—not," Remus finishes. He stares at the locked door, gawking. It doesn't take long for his shock to manifest into anger. "_Why, that little_—"

"Calm down, Mister Lupine," Sirius says in a soothing voice.

"But... where are we going to sleep?!"

Sirius can't understand why Remus is so distressed - there's plenty of other places they can sleep. Sleeping in the dorms is so last century. "Shack?" he says with a shrug.

"But there's no heating in the shack," Peter points out plainly. "You'll get cold and you'll get piles on your bottom – that's what my mother said."

"Well, sleep in the common room, then, Pete," Sirius offers an alternative. "I don't fancy waking up to a drawn-on moustache by the first person of our House that goes down for breakfast." He turns to Remus. "Let's go, Mister Lupine."

Remus is going to tell Sirius _no _and _bugger off _and _I'll risk the drawn-on moustache_ and _I wish I put on a pair of socks before Lily and James decided to barricade themselves in our dorm_. But when Sirius is looking at him with puppy dog eyes and calling him "Mister Lupine" and expecting him to follow, all Remus can mumble is "Sure, Mister Padfeet," and follow him down the staircase.

--------

"Did you have to transform, Padfoot? I don't particularly favour conversations with Grim lookalikes."

Sirius, in Animagus form, barks resoundingly in the passage leading to the Shrieking Shack after the two have just climbed through the hole of the Whomping Willow.

"Well, yes, Padfoot," Remus says, "I know I borrowed your socks."

Another bark.

"I know, I know, you do like the feel of soil between your paws."

And another, accompanied by an overenthusiastic wag of the tail.

"I can't help it if I find I write essays better barefoot, Padfoot—" Remus pauses, both in speech and actual moving, and Sirius gazes up at him in canine innocence. "Wait…how am I even able to understand your woofs?"

Sirius barks yet again.

"Yes, we do spend too much time with each other," Remus agrees, then promptly slaps his forehead afterwards in a comical fashion.

--------

"Home sweet home, crude and humble shack," Sirius announces his arrival, moving about the dilapidated building. He's transformed back to his annoyingly human self. As he gazes around tatty living room, he can't help but love everything about it, from the peeling antique wallpaper, to the tattered furniture and mouldy cushions. "Don't you just love the shoddiness of it all?" he asks Remus, sighing contently.

"I hate this place," Remus tells the truth, startling Sirius. "It just reminds me of who I am."

"Well, it's nice to see you're making a change and wallowing in your self-pity—wait, you do that all the time. My mistake," Sirius apologizes dryly, rolling his eyes. He lights up the nearby fireplace for warmth and plops to the floor in true dog-like fashion, expecting Remus to do the same, though it's evident Remus does not want to sleep here tonight by the definite frown on his face.

"I want to go back to the common room. I'll risk the graffiti to my face by our fellow Gryffindors."

"It would be amusing to see 'TIT' plastered to your forehead again," Sirius says thoughtfully. Remus continues to scowl. "Don't tell me you'd rather sleep with Pete than with me."

"I'm wondering about the wording of that sentence and which way I should be interpreting it."

Sirius puts his arms behind his head and stretches across the dusty floorboards. "Interpret any way you want, Mister Lupine." He clicks his fingers and points to the floor beside him. "Sit."

Remus is going to say _no _and _bugger off _and T_he War of the Roses ended when Henry Tudor, a Lancastrian, defeated King Richard the third at the battle of Bosworth Field in 1485_ (he can't quite explain why he was going to say the last sentence, but it has something to do with his intelligent, unintelligible thoughts). But when Sirius is looking at him beseechingly and calling him "Mister Lupine" and expecting him to lie down next to him, all Remus can mumble is "Sure, Mister Padfeet," and, with grace, sit down (not plop - Remus Lupin does not plop, plonk or dump himself).

"Don't you find it pathetic how we have nicknames _for_ nicknames?" Remus says.

"It does border on pitiable," Sirius agrees, staring at Remus out of the corner of his eye. "We should do this more often, Moony."

"What 'this' are we referring to here?"

"Spending nights in the Shack."

"Oh," Remus says. If truth be told, Remus would like to stay as far away from this building as possible. In every corner he looks, he sees images of his furry self. "I suppose James would happily agree, and Peter would get used the idea once we convince him he wouldn't get piles—"

"No, not Prongs and Wormtail, just us two, you know?" Sirius says, and Remus apparently doesn't know because the Marauders are always a four, not a two, and he can't quite understand, even after almost seven years, why Sirius would want only want his company, and his company only. "You know Peter's great, and James is like my brother," Sirius turns on his stomach, "but _you_…you're my favourite Marauder."

Remus' stomach flutters. "I'd like to say I'm flattered but, well, I'm boring," he laughs sadly.

"Boring?" Sirius repeats in disbelief. "Are you mental?"

"Padfoot, you're only focusing on my furry little problem here. Take away that and I'm nothing—"

"Shut your mouth," Sirius says in a tone of affectionate anger. "You're talking rubbish."

"—I'm too studious for my liking, too sensible, a doormat—"

"Seriously, if you don't stop putting yourself down, I'm going to use one of my therapeutic hands to sock you in the mouth." Sirius gets another idea. "In fact, I'll just snog you to make you shut up."

Remus' eyes grow wide as dinner plates. Surely he'd misheard. "You'd _what?_"

"You' heard me," Sirius says with a straight face.

Snog him? _Snog him? _"But…but _why?_"

"I know from personal experience snogging makes anyone shut their trap and just _stop bloody thinking_, and we both know you're devoted to thinking too much."

It takes Remus at least thirty seconds of battling with his thoughts until he replies stubbornly, "I do not."

"Moony," Sirius sighs. "You're what makes us the Marauders. Without you, I--I mean, _we _wouldn't be Animagi, we'd be nothing." Remus is about to say something, but Sirius hushes him. "Not one more word."

Remus keeps quiet like Sirius tells him, but before long he's itching to say something, and blurts out, "I still say I'm boring—"

"For the love of..." Sirius lets out a deep breath. "You made me do this, Remus Lupin."

With remarkable rolling skills, he manages to roll right on top of Remus, and instead of Remus thinking why on earth Sirius has done what he just did, he is left wondering why Sirius feels so light on top of him, as though he is a Padfoot Cloak. Before Remus can register what's going on, Sirius is kissing him, from the scar on his forehead, to the crook of his neck, to nipping his lips, and Remus can't even keep track as he feels so light-headed at the moment, like his head is completely hollow. Sirius knows Remus is enjoying it because, frankly, nobody has ever disliked his kisses, and Sirius can feel Remus' toes keep wriggling happily in his socks because they occasionally bump into his own toes.

Remus decides he wants to do more of this with Sirius, then, as a punishment, makes a promise of no pudding consumption for a week.

"I'm not allowed to eat cake for a week," Remus mentions, as Sirius briefly catches his breath. Sirius tries to listen to what Remus is talking about, but he's more focused on Remus' lips, moving up and down, the colours of cherries, and cherries taste nice, like Remus tastes nice and, all in all, every irrelevant thought somehow leads back to kissing Remus.

"It's punishment," Remus continues on the subject of pudding, just as Sirius is about to attack his mouth, and Sirius draws back –reluctantly, no doubt- to give him time –seconds, truthfully— to finish what he's babbling on about. "For liking this too much," Remus finishes.

Sirius was going to say, 'That's a good idea, actually, 'cause I feel I'm eating too much pudding lately, and my thighs will soon get flabby', but that takes too long and too much time, so he says "Sure", and kisses him again. He doesn't kiss like a dog, Remus learns - not that he thinks of kissing Sirius on regular occasions (at least, he'd never admit it). Brushing his insane thoughts aside, Remus lets out a satisfied, involuntary moan which, thanks to Sirius, gets lost inside Sirius' mouth and fortunately doesn't echo in the shack, confusing the locals. The both of them are getting far too carried away as they fumble and roll across the dusty floorboards, not realizing they are headed in a certain direction.

"Merlin, we need to stop this," Remus says, after another momentary breath for air. "I'm practically, ugh, I'm practically eating your face, Sirius, it sounds vile but it's actually quite pleasant."

"Sure," Sirius says again, diving for his mouth again, but Remus holds him back.

"Padfoot, I feel... Oh Merlin, I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I feel... warm. _Hot_, even."

"That's probably due to your hair being on fire."

On account of still feeling light-headed due to Sirius'outstanding snogging skills, it takes Remus an inordinate amount of time to realise they've rolled dangerously towards the fireplace, and a strand of Remus' hair has caught fire. When Remus' brain does catch up, he jumps up from the floor and starts running around in circles in panic. Sirius grabs a shoddy cushion from the sofa and pelts Remus' head with it, hoping the beating-with-a-cushion method will work. Sadly, it doesn't, and Remus ends up being knocked to the ground (Sirius' cushion-beating abilities are as outstanding as the power of his snogs). Eventually Sirius has the common sense to conjure water from his wand and shower Remus. Of course, he gets Remus' entire face soaked in the process, but at least he's not on fire anymore. Once Sirius knows Remus is safe and definitely won't burn to death, he barks with laughter.

Though nearly killed by a fireplace, Remus smiles in amusement, "You even laugh like a dog."

"Do I kiss like one too?"

Remus laughs at such a question. "How should I know? I'm not overfriendly with Greyhounds."

"But you're over friendly with Labradors?"

"_No_, I'm not over friendly with any canine."

"Except me," Sirius smirks.

"Indeed," Remus says, looking less amused and more scared. "Sirius, aren't you worried about us?"

"Why should I be?" asks Sirius, oblivious.

"You're not fazed by anything, are you?" Remus says, slightly aggravatedly. "Everything's going to be different now—"

"No, it's not," Sirius disagrees. "We've snogged, but things are still the same. We still argue like an old married couple, _and _I know you like me like you like bread crusts," he says matter-of-factly.

A smile tugs at Remus' lips. "I adore bread crusts."

"Exactly," Sirius says with a wink.

"You're a conceited prat, you know that?"

Sirius just grins, until his gaze falls down upon on a dark patch on Remus' robes, and he lifts an eyebrow. "Something dodgy about that," he comments about Remus' damp-looking pocket.

Remus follows his line of gaze. "Bugger." He brings out a mashed and melted chocolate spread sandwich from his pocket. "It appears my midnight snack has been ruined by our... well, you were there."

"You're odd," Sirius laughs, at the fact that Remus not only likes sandwiches as midnight snacks but, of all spreads, chocolate (though it's not surprising). "Give me half."

"You insult me, then expect me to share my food with you," Remus says in incredulity.

Sirius doesn't ask twice and tears off half the sandwich without asking. He munches happily, while Remus sits down –this time, far, far away from the fireplace— watching Sirius make the familiar transition into Animagus form. Sirius rests his shaggy head on Remus' stomach, and normally Remus would protest against the dog slobber, but Sirius' head is warming his belly.

Remus knows he'll be panicking about this tomorrow, overanalyze, probably tell Sirius this has been all a stupid mistake that would should never again. On the other hand, he might just surprise Sirius and tell him it was, indeed, a mistake, but his favourite one. Alternatively, Remus might just say nothing and let Sirius kiss him whenever he wants for his entire life. He hopes it's the third option.

"Your socks are ridiculous, Sirius," Remus tells him, gazing at the tatty things. "There are enough holes for ten extra pairs of toes."

Sirius barks jovially.

"All right, I'll buy you new ones for Christmas."

Sirius woofs again

"Novelty ones, I promise. They'll serenade you and everything."

And another.

"No, I don't think there are socks that blast out the funeral march whenever Severus Snape is near. You're being awfully particular and fussy."

A final one, sounding defeated.

"Quiet now," Remus says, because he's exhausted, and all Sirius' barking is giving him a headache. Luckily, Sirius has fallen asleep with his head on Remus' abdomen, and Remus, too, invites himself to the land of slumber. For the first time in years, Remus falls asleep with a smile on his face, dreaming about licking chocolate spread off the boy who made his hair catch fire.


End file.
